Old Meat
by Maiden of Mercy
Summary: An old woman tells her Granddaughter the disturbing story of her envy of her three beautiful, princess-like sisters and how how she got her wicked revenge on them... Based on a mixture of fairytales all warped into something else entirely...


**a/n: A creepy and disturbing take on many fairytales from Hansel and Gretel to Snow White. Whoever you are, please Read and Review xxx**

One winter evening, when I was a child, I took tea with my grandmother in her crooked little house. The fire had burnt low in the grate and the sky beyond the window was dark as ink, yet still we remained very much awake. The room was silent save for the quiet clinking of the teaspoons. By now I had begun to shiver from the cold, skin raised in countless bumps. The house was old, three times my Grandmother's age and perhaps older still. As the years passed by, the ancient bricks shifted and the windows loosened on their hinges. There were now many little cracks for a sly breeze to slip within. So over time, I grew so chilled that I drew my scarlet shawl tight around me with a terse rustle of velvet.

Grandmother, disturbed from her brooding by the slight sound, glanced up from her plaid-covered lap. Her eyes glinted out of the shadowed mask of her face. There was something eerie about the way her frail body hunched in her wooden rocking chair, and the manner in which her arthritic fingers hooked through the handle of her teacup like an old crow's claws. However, as I gazed back at her by the light of the dying fire I tried not to show my unease. I simply smiled anxiously and sipped in solemn obedience.

"Child," Grandmother whispered in her paper-like voice. "Would you like to hear a story?"

"I would," I replied eagerly. I saw something of a smirk twist her dry old lips. "A true one, if you may. I am not an infant. I am too old for fairy stories."

I tossed my hair like a haughty noblewoman. Grandmother laughed softly as if amused, although her expression had become very grave.

"I see," she said. "But some fairytales are truer than you could possibly imagine. However, I will oblige you and tell you a tale about something that happened to me when I was very young. It is not a happy tale. In fact, it is somewhat disturbing. But I think that such a grown up young lady as yourself could bear to listen."

The soft hairs on the back on my neck began to rise in discomfort. Even so, I kept quiet and allowed Grandmother to begin her story. As she began to speak, the flames in the hearth dulled to a sickly crimson, flickering so as to cast strange silhouettes upon the walls. With a fanciful eyes I made out grotesque shapes: a creeping spider, a crouching demon. These things made me all the afraid of the words that came croaking from Grandmother's dry old throat.

"Once upon a time," she murmured- for she, as gifted storyteller, knew that all good tales were woven with such words. "When I was scarcely twelve years old, I lived with my three sisters and my rich parents in a house not far from this one. I was youngest of the four and would have expected to be doted upon. But unfortunately, my siblings were very beautiful and graceful, and I could not hope to match them on looks or wit. In those days I was a plain, skinny wretch. My parents preferred to hide me away when we had visitors and parade their lovelier daughters before them instead. Ofcourse, I became very jealous. I plotted day and night to do away with them, one by one, but ofcourse these were only bitter fantasies."

Grandmother stared darkly into the blood-like tendrils of fire. They crackled gently under her scrutiny, as if they could feel the intensity of her dusky glare. I shivered again. Gooseflesh had consumed me completely. I swear that if I'd had a mirror in that time, I would have seen that my own lips were as icily blue as Grandmother's piercing eyes.

"One day," she continued quietly. "I stumbled across several mildewed old books about witchcraft. They gave something to occupy my time, but also a way to have revenge on my sisters for stealing my parent's love from me. I made three pretty dolls hewn from wax and cloth and moulded them into their likenesses. The first had hair yellow as sulphur, the second was dark as Hell itself and the third had curls the same cloudy scarlet as the blood in her very veins. I took these dolls into the room my sisters shared, and by standing upon an old chair I hung one each above their beds form the rafters. When the girls slept that night, they were plagued by terrible nightmares about being strangled in a noose. In the morning they all had bruises beneath their eyes and pallid skin- they looked like death itself! For once, I was the prettiest in that house."

Grandmother gave a rattling cackle like set my teeth on edge. I found myself slowly dragging my chair backwards across the old floorboards away from her. I couldn't help but feel utterly unnerved by these bitter words of hatred. It seemed as if a monster had replaced my Grandmother, leaving a soulless demon in place of the sweet old woman I had once known. My breath quickened.

"Night after night, their torment continued. I was so pleased with what I had done that my own cheeks became rosy with health and my eyes glittered with constant mirth. Eventually my father, a shrewd man and a well-known doctor, realised that something was amiss. His three precious darlings were barely more than husks of skin and bone whilst I _glowed_. He took it unto himself to probe their sleeping quarters in search of something to make them ill. A lock of hangman's hair beneath their pillow, perhaps, or a sprig of black lavender to keep them awake. Ofcourse, he discovered the poppets resembling my sisters and realised what I had done. He tore them down in a rage and beat me until I spat blood upon the ground.

"He would not tell my mother or my siblings what I had done, but they knew I was in disgrace. However, they attempted to be civil to me when they saw the dark bruising on my face. My kindest sister, Snow, offered me rosy apples to make up for my pain. And although I suppose I appreciated this sweetness, I continued to seethe. I despised the fact the three were so lovely and endearing even to those who they should abhor. Why was I forced to be so ugly and hateful when they were so pure?"

I looked at Grandmother with fear anew. The question had been spat poisonously, as if she had taken a mouthful of something sour before speaking. There was a visible sneer curling her mouth now. I clapped a hand to my own mouth in horrified surprise, but Grandmother didn't notice. She seemed so lost in her own harsh memories that she no longer knew I was present.

"So," Grandmother said. "I spent all my time dwelling on ways to punish them for being so sickeningly good. In the end, though, I gave up. After all, a little girl like me couldn't do much more without the aid of those wonderful books, which had been burnt before my eyes by my father weeks ago. I began to treat my sisters like princesses, idolising them and convincing myself that I loved them as much as I loved my mother. I waited on them hand and foot, showering them with gifts and compliments. I hoped that by doing so my inner-turmoil would go away. But it didn't. I stayed just as detesting of them as I always had. One night, after I had spent hours tossing and turning and boiling with hidden rage, I had a terrible nightmare.

"I dreamt that I was walking inside my house dressed in a gown of purest white. It trailed down the corridors behind me as far as the eye could see, seeming to grow with each step. It made a glorious, silky hissing as I walked. Yet I could not enjoy the beauty of it. I was too frightened. Everything was dark and distorted, as if drawn by an angry child. The house looked the same as it always did but… wrong, even so. Like it was made from a front of a circus mirror. I kept walking, silent, sighing, until I came to a door I did not recognise. When I entered it, I found myself ascending a long spiral staircase. At the top was a room swathed in thick white cobwebs and the feathers of deceased doves. I pushed my way through them all.

"It was horrible. I could feel the sticky webs brushing against me, catching in my hair and mouth, trying to suffocate me. I tried to scream, but they clung to my tongue. Luckily, I then stumbled across a bed completely free of webs. I wanted to fall upon it, but it was already occupied. Within was a beautiful girl with hair so long that it twined around the bedposts in ropes of woven gold. It was my sister Rose, dressed like a princess in flowing white with a silver tiara atop her head. She smiled mockingly in sleep with her lovely rosebud lips, and at that moment I knew I hated her. Before I realised what I was doing, I fell upon her and began to tear out her beautiful hair strand by strand.

"Soon, a had so much of it that there was an entire noose of blonde in my fists. Blood dripped from the roots. In a fit of anger, I wrapped the noose about her neck and began to pull- tighter, tighter- until Rose began to choke. I didn't care. I covered her nose and mouth with one hand and yanked on the noose with the other. I saw her once peaceful pace grow swollen and purple until at last the last breath caught in her lungs and she died."

Grandmother took a little of the tea to soothe her dry throat. I reached up to my own smooth neck and touched it softly, anxiously. I could almost feel a knot of hair about it now. The old lady's words were all around me, burning inside me and growing in my heart. I was becoming consumed by the paranoia they brought with them.

"After that," said Grandmother. "I retraced my steps and carried on down another corridor. This one led to a warm room from with came the sound of gentle singing. My second sister, Cynthia was weaving on a loom by a roaring fire. She had her back to me, but I could see her lovely red hair cascading down her back and hear the loveliness in her voice. I also sighted her dainty feet in crystal glass slippers. Again I felt that inhuman rage rise inside me. I dashed forward, unhindered by my gown, and pushed Cynthia hard in the square of her back. With a high, quavering cry of fear, she tumbled into the fire and was set alight. She at once began to scream as the flames began to eat at her flesh.

"She reached out with pale, delicate hands to crawl out to safety. I smashed the loom and took from it a plank of splintered wood. Using it as a club, I beat at her fingers with the spindle-tipped end and forced her back into the fire. Her flesh and flawless skin peeled back from her bones. Her bright green eyes sizzled in her sockets. That great man of crimson became greyed cinders. From her burning body came the hideous smell of frying meat, but I didn't care. I took pleasure in her pain. I waited until her corpse had burnt into ashes. Then I spat into the fire and continued to walk with a cruel smile on my face.

"After that, I came out into the garden. Many trees seemed to have sprouted, and there were many animals skipping to and fro. Most notably, there was a little wooden hut with a pretty thatched roof right in the middle. I wandered inside, eyes wide, to see a home of minute size. Everything was made as if to suit children. I was delighted. For a short while I simply walked around, touching the stunted furniture in bemused wonderment. Then I caught sight of a figure washing dishes in a tiny sink. She was dressed humbly in yellow and blue, but her short hair was curled exquisitely. Also, her lips were shining with the most expensive of paints. It was the most bearable of my sisters, Snow.

"I may have spared her if I hadn't watched for a few seconds more. I witnessed seven handsome teenage boys enter through a hidden door and kiss my sister. They treated her like royalty, showering her in diamonds and words of love. Then they were gone, like snowflakes in sunlight, and a great envy stirred itself in my gut. The now familiar sensation of rage washed over my. Without speaking, I reached into a nearby drawer and withdrew seven silver kitchen knives. Then I ran at Snow with a wild shriek and drove each one into her sensual body. Two in each breast, one in her stomach, one in her heart, another in her throat, and the last two in her soft thighs.

"Blood spilled onto the floor. The sight of the stark red on the spotless white excited me. I drove the knives deeper and deeper into Snow's body, ignoring her struggles and yelps, and pushed her against a wall. A great mirror hung there. I brought it crashing down on her doll-like face and laughed as the sharps ripped her cheeks apart. The scent of the blood must have been strong, for soon several feral beasts entered the house through the front door. Wolves, foxes, and even a great wild horse with frothing lips. I stepped back from them. Snow sang to them in an effort to calm them, but to no avail. As she gurgled though her impaled throat, the creatures fell upon her and tore her apart."

Grandmother paused. My heart was now beating fast and steady in my chest. I did not know whether to stay and listen or run for the hills. In the end I remained, shuddering with revulsion at Grandmother's words as they continued to croak from her throat.

"Then," she whispered. "I awoke from my nightmare with drool on my cheek. I looked around. I wasn't on my bed, or in my bedroom at all. I was lying on the cold floor in my sisters' room. I remembered what my dream self had done to them and felt a lump rise in my throat. I got to my feet and approached their beds, hoping to seek comfort in their well-being. But as I twitched back their quilts I saw a terrible thing. In the place of each of my sisters was a bloody skeleton draped in cloth. I almost screamed aloud. Stumbling backwards, I brought a hand to my lips and bit my nails as I always did in times of fear. I tasted something metallic there.

"Puzzled and frightened, I turned to the mirror hanging on their wall. This time, I screamed aloud, but laughed hysterically at the same time. I had been freed from my misery. For what I saw was myself, hands and mouth dripping with gore. I had eaten my siblings alive."

I stared at Grandmother in blatant terror and disgust. I knew that she wasn't lying, or babbling from old age. The story she had just told me was true in every way. I was no longer safe in her company; I could see that now. I snatched up my basket from where it lay on the floor and got to me feet, knocking the contents of my cold teacup across the hearthrug. My face was tight and, I'm sure, pale as the dead. Grandmother blinked at me in surprise.

"Where are you going, child?" she asked. "It is late. The sky is dark. You could not possibly return home at this treacherous hour."

"I am leaving, Grandmother," I said firmly, although I was quaking like a branch in the wind. "I will not trouble you any longer. I will just fetch my little sister from her cradle and be gone."

Grandmother looked momentarily bewildered. Then she chuckled, hands wriggling in thin air like spindly-legged spiders. She reached out to grab my arm and tug my back.

"Sit down, child. What I did was so very long ago, and besides, I wouldn't dream of harming you. Now, don't fret. Sit down again and calm yourself. The roast in my oven should be nearly done by now. Can you not smell the juices bubbling?"

I sniffed tentatively. Sure enough, I could smell cooking meat in the air. I could not help but lick my lips despite my fear.

"You must be hungry," Grandmother smiled.

"Yes," I agreed reluctantly. I remained standing. "But if I am to eat, I must have my sister with me. Belle is most likely just as starved as I."

Grandmother looked at me in a knowing way that sent a chill scuttling down my spine.

"She needs nothing," she said calmly. "Your troublesome sister with not give us any bother during our meal. Nor ever again. Siblings are such a bother, are they not, child?"

I could not help but agree and sit back down. I felt a rising sense of foreboding come to me. Grandmother rose and pottered into the kitchen, humming like any other old woman. Yet she was not like any other. She was mad, murderous dangerous. But she was my Grandmother, and what could I do but love and accept her? Perhaps her lust for dispatching had vanished with the deaths of her sisters. After all, she had not harmed my mother or father.

Even so, I felt very afraid of her as she returned with a covered silver dish. She set it down gently on the table between us and smiled softly. Her red, wet tongue licked her lips like a shining worm.

"Now, let us begin to eat," she announced, and with a crooked jerk of her hand she whipped the lid from the dish.

I took one look at the sizzling meat beneath before a scream tore itself from my lips and I crumpled to the floor in a dark, dead faint. As I drifted into unconsciousness, I heard my Grandmother tear a hank of the juicy flesh. Then, with a smack of her dry old lips, she began to eat it with a terrible and wolfish delight.


End file.
